


Pot and Kettle

by windandthestars



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alternate Universe, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 03:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13627392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: “It’s a soda.” He tips his drink toward her, “not two or three beers and a shot of varnish remover.”---Mac and Will meet for a second time, not at ACN, but in AA. Mac falls off the wagon.





	Pot and Kettle

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to have hit a wall with both of the longer pieces I'm working on (right at the end grr), so here's another NaNo snippet to tide you over: two short scenes from a blatantly obvious excuse to make Mac miserable and snarky. No spoilers, but definite warnings for alcohol, alcohol abuse, and the like, as well as language.

He’s still waiting for the meeting to start when he hears her at the door. He should be furious that she’s here of all places, that she’s anywhere near him, but he’s not because she clearly doesn’t want to be here, a sentiment that only grows when she spots him, but whatever protest she’s making sounds too much like the one she’d been making in the hall, so the man she’s with continues to ignore her and she’s stuck here with him and two dozen other people.

He gets off easy. He’s been coming every day for months and so he doesn’t say much, doesn’t have to offer much, but she’s forced to speak, cajoled into it until the words come out, halting and reluctant, as she stares at the floor.

“Last night.” She says when someone asks her when she’d had her last drink. “This morning.” She admits when the man she’d come in with coughs pointedly.

He should feel something. This should make him feel something, and it does in a way but it’s not pity or anger, or understanding so he ignores it, thankful for once for the numbness he hadn’t had to find at the bottom of a bottle.

The meeting wraps up and he knows she wants to try and make a beeline for the door, but her escort is enamored with the fruit punch and she’s stuck.

He should leave her alone, he really should. She’s been drinking and while that isn’t a problem— although she is a problem, she’s always been a problem, has been such a problem— it’s her drinking he's worried about, not the smell of the alcohol, or the mint, or the mouthwash on her breath. She would have tried to cover it up; shame was something he knew she understood.

He should leave her alone, he really should, but after all the calls and all the letters, after he’s spent the better part of two years doing his best to ignore her incessant attempts to talk to him, he wants to know what it is that’s making her want to flee.

“MacKenzie.” His smile is as fake as any he’s ever seen, but it would throw most people off enough that she can’t flat out ignore him.

“Will.” She’s jittery, not nervous, not anxious, but she’s definitely uncomfortable, definitely trying not to look at him.

“You made it a couple of hours.” It sounds like congratulations but he knows she’s hearing the judgement. She was better than this, they could both agree on that, but she was here, and berating herself for it.

“Yeah,” she mumbles to his feet and then looks up as her chaperone bumps her elbow, returning with a plate of cookies. “This is Will.”

She makes it sound like they’ve just met, like she isn’t entirely sure of what she’s saying and so Jim doesn’t bat an eye as he shoves the plate of cookies at her so he can hold out his hand for Will to shake. “Jim.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Same.” Jim’s smile is warm and Will wonders how he had ended up here with Mac. She'd be a sucker for that smile, he didn’t doubt that, but he can’t see what would’ve drawn him to her. This is clearly a familiar state of affairs, although the meeting in particular seems to be a new addition to their repertoire. “Do you know, can you sign up to bring stuff to the meetings, snacks?”

“It’s a free for all. Bring whatever you’d like, whenever.”

 

*

 

He isn’t surprised when he sees her at the bar, halfway through what he assumes is her second pint of beer. He’d walked around the block a couple of times after the meeting to clear his head so he’s not surprised that she doesn’t look up to see who’s come in despite the fact it’s hardly pushing ten in the morning.

He slips onto the stool next to her and gestures to the bartender for his usual, soda water, whatever citrus is on hand and offers, “and one for the lady.”

“Add a shot to that.” The words aren’t the slow drag he’s expecting. She’s been drinking but it hasn’t hit her yet.

“I’m cutting you off.”

She pulls her wallet out of the purse on the stool beside her and slaps a couple of bills on that bar. “That’s fine, just give me the shot.”

“You sure you want to do that?” It’s light and conversational, but her responding laugh is bitter and sharp.

“Look at you calling the kettle black.”

“It’s a soda.” He tips his drink toward her, “not two or three beers and a shot of varnish remover.”

“I can handle it.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“I started binge drinking after you stopped taking my calls. This isn’t the half of it.”

“It took you that long?”

“I used to think you weren’t a total douche.”

“Hmm.” He sips on his soda. “That’s fair, although…”

“Pot, kettle.” She snorts. “I meant what I said when I said I wished I could hate you.”

“I know. I’m familiar with the feeling.”

“Do you have to be so fucking smug? I know I’m a fucking mess, but don’t pretend—”

“I’d be careful, Mac.” He warns, “you’re drunk and chatty, for all I know you won’t remember half of this by this afternoon, but I will. Consider that.”

“There isn’t anything I could say that’s worse than what I’ve already said.”

“You think so?”

“I got that message loud and clear.”

“I think your ears are broken.”

“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“Maybe I am, but you’re still sitting there.”

“Don’t you try and put this on me.” She turns, finally, to look at him, glaring. “I fucked up. I hurt you, but not everything in this world is my fault.”

“I wasn’t aware I'd implied that it was.”

“Oh fuck you.” She frowns at her beer as he sighs and downs the last of his drink.

“If I’m really such an arrogant bastard you should find yourself another group. You really ought to quit this stuff.” He tells her as he gets up to leave. “It’ll kill you eventually and you don’t deserve that.”


End file.
